I'm Alive
by mumf0rdandsons
Summary: Sherlock returns after 3 years and arranges to meet with John with surprising results. Yes, there is a bit of romance. Yes, there is slight sexual tension. No, there are no sex scenes. I can never resist a good old cliff-hanger either, so enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm alive. - SH_

Whoever this is, can't you just leave me alone? - JW

_I'm afraid I cannot, John. - SH_

Stop it. Just stop. It's not funny. -JW

_You know my endeavours at humour exceed Molly's in their morbidity; therefore I refrain from trying to be amusing. -SH_

This… this is not okay, whoever you are, can't you just leave a grieving man alone? -JW

_You favourite jumper is the striped grey one. I may have called it ugly on a couple of occasions, earning myself a disapproving glare. -SH_

_You adore strawberry jam yet you buy apricot instead because I once mentioned liking it. -SH_

Now that's just creepy. Where did you learn that, huh? Who told you? Are you working for Mycroft? _Who are you? _-JW

_The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221B Baker Street. -SH_

My God. Seriously, is this just some sick joke, really, who are you? -JW

_The first thing I said to you was 'thank you' for the phone you lent me that afternoon at Saint Bart's. Then I asked you whether you'd served in Afghanistan or Iraq. -SH_

My God. I can't. I need proof- _real_ proof. I need to see you. -JW

_I told you. The address is 221B Baker Street. -SH_

I can't believe I'm going to do this. I'll be there in a few. -JW

_I shall wait. -SH_


	2. Chapter 2

"I can't believe I'm doing this. I haven't been there in so long. I swear, if this is some trick, I'll put a bloody bullet through their head," John muttered to himself while getting ready. He took his gun just in case.

Sherlock turned the collar of his coat up - just the way that he knew irritated his companion, - and leaned back against the wall of their old home. He hadn't been in to see Mrs Hudson yet - to be honest, he was a bit afraid to see how she would react.

John bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. His bad leg had returned after Sherlock's fall but it suddenly wasn't hurting as much as usual. He stopped at the door- Is it locked? He decided knocking would be the best action. So he did so.

Sherlock perked up at the sound of someone knocking on the door. Right. This was it. Exhaling slowly, he strode across the living room in three long steps and cautiously fingered the door handle. "Just so I know, will you punch me when you see me?" He asked, not opening just yet.

John couldn't believe his ears. It really was Sherlock. Sherlock's voice! It's been so long. "I might if you don't open the door, you bloody idiot!"

Sherlock swung the door open, bracing himself.

"Sherlock." John whispered, and stood in place, utterly stunned. He looked at Sherlock- he obviously looked different, but his face. His face was still the same. "Sherlock!" He didn't care about boundaries anymore. He went up and tackled Sherlock in a hug.

"Jo-," He was cut off mercilessly by his favourite blogger who had flung them both onto the floor of 221B, his arms wound tightly around Sherlock's protruding hip bones. Carefully, hesitating slightly, Sherlock put his own arms around John, pulling him closer.

"Sher-", he gulped and tried again through the lump in his throat. "Sherlock, how?" John was lost for words, with so many things to say and not quite knowing how to start. He decided to go with his gut. "Sherlock, you were dead, I saw you-I took your pulse—" His voice broke.

"Shhh," Sherlock whispered softly, burying his face in the crook of John's neck. He pulled a breath into his lungs before continuing: "John, it wasn't me. A magic trick, all a magic trick. I couldn't let you know and I am sorry, John, I'm so so sorry…"

"You could never make up for this, you know." John held back a sob. "I can't believe this. Sherlock, you're really alive. That one last miracle…"

"You asked for it and here I am," Sherlock said softly, running his colds hands up and down the expanse of John's spine to soothe him, just a little. "I heard you in the graveyard… Thank you for that. I don't think anyone has ever said such good things about me."

"Oh my God, you were there. The whole time, you were there…" John couldn't hold the tears back anymore. They flowed along with the comfort of Sherlock's hands on his back. "Sherlock, you have no idea how hard this has been."

"I know, I know. I had Mycroft keeping tabs on you, I asked for updates, photos, CCTV footage, anything I could get my hands on, solely to see if you were okay. I shouldn't have put you through all of these things. If there had been any other way, I would have… You, John… Your survival was my priority."

"What?" John was now confused. "Survival? This killed me, Sherlock!" he kept crying, kept hugging and he swore to himself he'd never let go, but he had to know. "What do you mean my survival?"

Sherlock bit his lip, knowing he had to be very careful with his choice of words. "Moriarty had… a very deliberate plan. See, he put three snipers to dispatch the three people that mattered the most to me. Lestrade. Mr. Hudson. You, John. They would have shot you. Unless they saw me jump."

"They… what?" John couldn't believe it. "You jumped… to save us?"

"For the lack of a better term, yes," Sherlock replied quietly, assessing John's reaction.

"I would have died for you, you know that, Sherlock. I would have." John sobbed again, hugging even tighter.

"I wouldn't have let you and you know it," Sherlock replied firmly before putting his hands on John's face. "Hey, hey there… Look at me."

John brought his eyes to Sherlock's face. The face that he saw covered in blood on the pavement. The face that haunted his nightmares with vacant eyes. He waited for Sherlock to say something.

Sherlock took in the haggard lines of John's face, the bags under his light-blue eyes. This was his fault. "You haven't been taking care of yourself properly, John. This needs to change."

"There was nothing to take care of myself for." John looked away for a moment before looking back into Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock's face was too hollow, his cheekbones seeming more prominent than he remembered. Sherlock wasn't taking care of himself either.

"John, I faked my death so they would spare yours. Don't make those three years be in vain," Sherlock said quietly.

"I can't help it, Sherlock. Those three years were hell." God, had it really only been three years? It felt like a lifetime.

"You can say that again," Sherlock replied with a chuckle and closed his eyes, letting the sensation of home wash over him for the first time in years.

"Sherlock." John said after a long moment of idyllic silence. "What happens now?"

"Whatever you would like to happen, really. Moriarty's men have been taken care of. My good name… well, there will always be pessimists in this world, there is no helping it." Sherlock paused. "If I might suggest something… We could start by getting off the floor."

"Oh, right. Um, yes. sorry, sorry." John said, feeling slightly flustered, brushing himself off.

"Never you mind," Sherlock said pleasantly and dusted his coat off before slipping it off his shoulders and throwing it onto the back of his chair. "Tea?"

"Tea, yes. That'd be nice." John stammered. He couldn't believe after all this time of mourning, all this time of wishing Sherlock were alive, here he was. Offering him tea. He laughed in spite of himself and went to sit down in the armchair he always used to use. "So, we've still got tea in this place? Or have you gone out to get more just for this?" John called from his seat. He rubbed his face a while, wiping the excess tears. He was suddenly exhausted, if not from crying, but from the countless sleep-deprived nights. God he needed a good rest.

Right. Tea. Sherlock snapped out of his reverie and continued his search, coming upon a tin box of dried-out leaves. This would have to do. He put the strainers on the cups and placed the whole set-up on a tray before taking it to the living room and setting it in front of John.

"So. Does Mrs. Hudson know you're here?"

"Um, no." Sherlock had the courtesy to look withdrawn. "I'm afraid I haven't had the time to visit her yet. I was hoping… that, um… maybe you would go with me?"

John didn't know how to go on. They'd have to tell everyone he's back. Everyone, including Lestrade, Anderson. Donovan. He didn't look forward to that.

"John," Sherlock paused, settling into his leather armchair and pouring the hot water into the teacups. "This will be tough and I know it and I also know that you are conscious of all the adversities we will have to face. Thus, I will give you a way out: you can walk out this door and we can pretend I never came back. If that would be easier for you, I will abide it."

"No," John's instant response. "No, I can't do that. I can't do that again, no." he watched Sherlock pour the water.

"Your association with me is robbing you of a normal life, John," Sherlock pointed out. "I wouldn't blame you for wanting something… ordinary for a change. I stole three years of your life. I cannot take any more."

"Maybe I don't want a normal life, Sherlock" John had surely missed the thrill of living with Sherlock. If he could have the rest of his life as great as it had been then, the three years of agony were a small price to pay.

"People," Sherlock replied ambiguously, wrinkling his nose. "Lestrade. Donovan. Anderson."

"Well they don't know me." John said self-assuredly. "They were wrong."

"I hope they were." Sherlock took a sip of his tea. "It's good to see you, John."

John smiled at that. He never thought he'd hear those words, any words for that matter, from Sherlock again. It was nice. "You too."

Sherlock responded with a erratic smile of his own before settling his cup down onto the table and stippling his hands under his chin. "Well, of course, there's also the matter of us being in love with each other…"


	3. Chapter 3

John spat out the tea he'd been trying to drink. "Ex-" he cleared his throat, "Excuse me?"

"God, John, please, let's skip the dramatics," Sherlock replied, waving his hand cordially.

John was gobsmacked. Of course he adored Sherlock, but he didn't quite think it was love. It couldn't be, he was straight. He continued to stare at Sherlock, eyebrows raised, face red of at least another minute.

"You might have noted the fact that most of our associates speculate us to be involved in a romantic relationship. I'm afraid that is the one time when other human are more observant than myself."

"But- but we were never- never, we- " John couldn't exactly figure out what he wanted to say. He decided to stop trying.

"So I took note of what they were saying. I took your pulse. On more than one occasion," Sherlock replied simply, watching his friend mull over his own words.

At that, John gawped. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"That you are attracted to me. And don't you worry, the feeling is quite mutual."

John didn't think his eyebrows could go any higher. "And how did you deduce that?" He almost didn't want to know.

"Aren't you paying attention? Pulse, John, pulse. It accelerates every time I'm nearby. I can see your pupils dilate. I can see the fine droplets of sweat on your neck. Science, John."

"Oh, God." John looked away from Sherlock to the floor. "I couldn't have been that bad…" he trailed off. "Could I?"

"Don't worry, it's simply human," Sherlock replied, inclining his head to the side.

"But, I…" John stalled, "I'm straight." Was he really?

"Human sexuality is quite fluid, John." Sherlock shrugged. "I was satisfied with being asexual. And then you showed up."

"Right. Then I showed up. What? you changed your sexuality for me?"

"I believe it readjusted itself."

"Well, uh, right," John cleared his throat. "So that's it, then? You're so sure we're in love with each other?"

"Positive." Sherlock nodded, gazing up at him through his mass of curls.

"So. The great Sherlock Holmes, in love with me." It was unbelievable, but John was quite enjoying this. His abandoned teacup set, sipped from only once. Honestly it had tasted rather horrid, and talking seemed much more appealing at the moment. "How can you be sure?"

"John, I might be an impassive sociopath most of my time but I think I can recognize the desire I have felt for three years without your presence by my side."

"I guess that works." He cleared his throat again. It seemed he just couldn't keep his voice from wavering at all.

"So, how do we resolve this? Frustration, according to statistics, can lead to tension in a working environment and we really cannot afford that to sabotage the work."

"I really have no idea." John said more quickly than he should have. Of course, many, many things had come to mind suddenly, but they were ridiculous. Really, how could he have ever thought he was straight if his mind goes there first?

"Then, might I suggest my own solution?"

"Um, well, if you want." At this point he wasn't sure exactly where Sherlock was heading, but he had a whim he knew. Or was that anticipation?

Sherlock nodded soundlessly before hurling himself out of his chair and onto John and placing his lips on top of his doctor's.

The rush of electricity when Sherlock's lips met his own was definitely not what John should have felt. It should have felt wrong, but for some reason it felt unmistakably right.

With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock deepened the kiss. It felt like coming home.

John's heart was racing, millions of thoughts of 'this should be wrong' and 'you shouldn't be enjoying this' were drowned out by the thoughts of how perfect Sherlock's lips felt. It only got worse as Sherlock deepened the kiss. All three of those years, wanting Sherlock back, and here he was kissing him. All the persistent pain he felt completely dissolved as Sherlock's lips continued to move on his own.

Sherlock groaned into the kiss, a small supressed sound at the very back of his throat and then he pulled away, touching his fingers to John's lips. It felt… interesting. Much more emotional depth, he thought to himself, running his other hand through John's hair.

John panted, gasping for breath. He looked at Sherlock, who seemed to be preoccupied with himself. How could he not have known Sherlock was this beautiful until now? And his lips. His full lips were gorgeous.

"John? John? You're being a bit discomforting with all the staring. Is there something wrong?" Sherlock questioned quietly, unable to resist patting John's short-cropped hair. There was something… what was the world?… oh yes, cuddly. Something so cuddly about John. He was the personification of domesticity. Which wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

"No, nothing. Nothing's wrong." he sighed, releasing air he hadn't known he'd been holding. "Just… wow."

"I sincerely hope it means our exchange of saliva was satisfactory," Sherlock replied, not letting go of John.

"God, yes." John moved in for another kiss, putting his own hands on Sherlock's hips.

Sherlock let himself be kissed, entangling his fingers in John's hair - which he really couldn't get enough of for some reason - and inching closer.

The second kiss was even better than the first- John licked Sherlock's bottom lip, demanding entry.

Sherlock complied, knowing that in this relationship, John would assuredly take the lead in all things sexual, at least. He was happy to go along.

John entered Sherlock's mouth, exploring, making sure to memorize everything about it- teeth, soft tongue with a hint of that tea- everything. His heart was so full of joy in those moments, he felt he could burst.

Sherlock catalogued John's every move, his taste, for further examination later. Now, though, he could only do one thing: feel wonderful. For the first time in so many months, there was nothing standing between him and complete and utter euphoria.

John nipped at Sherlock's bottom lip, noting Sherlock's shudder as he did so. He'd have to do that more- this entire experience was simply so incredibly delicious, it was hard not to faint from the overflow of new tastes and feelings.

Sherlock drew back a little, enough distance to talk but not enough for his lips to stop grazing John's as he spoke: "John, what does this mean for both of us? I'm not good with social titles and authentication is really not what I have ever been looking for and-,"

"Shh, we can discuss that later." John whispered on Sherlock's lips and connected them once again. He didn't want to worry about what would happen later. He just wanted to live in this instant, these kisses, forever.

"Fine, we'll… talk… later… much… later…" Sherlock growled between kisses.

He bit down on a particularly smooth patch of skin and hummed, enjoying the way John's breath turned into little gasps of want. Interesting.

"Bedroom?"

"God, yes,"


End file.
